


Pick Me Up

by MorningChrysanthemum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, implied suicidal thoughts, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningChrysanthemum/pseuds/MorningChrysanthemum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And don't ever put me back down again. Otherwise, I think I might break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> wow this took me more than a year to write fuck i can't believe it's actually done

It’s one thing to feel lonely and actually be alone.

It’s another to feel lonely while being in a crowd.

Arthur Kirkland strode through the doors of the bar, sat down in his usual spot, and asked for his usual drink, at the same time removing his coat and shaking water off of it. He’d been frequenting this place quite a bit lately, so he expected to hear the knowing, dramatic sigh and the annoying jibe of, “Why, Artie, you’re the most tasteless dude, I’ve ever met! Get something different once in a while, will ya!”

But today the order had been met with silence. It almost felt lonely. Or so most would have thought. Arthur, on the other hand, welcomed the silence as he sipped at his drink. True to that annoying bartender’s words, he really could taste nothing.

Outside, the rain continued to pour down mercilessly. Those caught off guard by it had hurriedly piled into the pub, making it even more crowded than usual. They chatted amongst themselves blithely, as if the downpour outside was no longer of any importance to them.

Loss of importance. Imagine that.

Arthur soon downed his drink and ordered for a second one. He also sneezed once, but otherwise remained silent. With boredom evident on his face, he scanned his eyes around the room and found nothing entertaining. Even the stage, which was lively on most nights, looked despondent. The singer was out with a nasty case of pneumonia. The people who usually busied themselves with the instruments were not present, either; they simply saw no need in appearing without their vocalist.

Their cheery, lovey-dovey music wouldn’t fit a day like this, anyway. Or any day, for that matter.

A small clinking sound diverted him from his thoughts. He shifted his gaze to catch sight of a full glass in front of him. His mouth downturned, his eyebrows following suit. It wasn’t much change from his usual expression nowadays.

“I didn’t order this,” he grumbled to the bartender, looking away once more. Had he been in a better state, he might have.

“Paid for with the compliments of the gentlemen near the north side of the bar,” was the soft yet clipped reply, as if the speaker meticulously planned out his thoughts so he didn’t waste any words.

Arthur scoffed, but turned his head to said direction to find a group of men leering at him. One of them winked at him, his intentions clear. He should have guessed. In response, he wrinkled his nose and turned his head back.

The bartender was faced away from him as he readied the drink Arthur had actually ordered. The continuous clinks had calmed Arthur down against his will as he found his eyes drawn to the man’s work. The bartender had the fingers of a pianist and the caution of a scientist as he mixed portions from different bottles, never missing a beat. Such precise movements held a transfixed Arthur’s gaze until the bartender turned around and once again placed the drink in front of him.

Black hair and white skin. It matched his uniform well. Chocolate-brown eyes peered from behind a curtain of straight bangs, eyes that were more like mirrors than windows to the soul. One could look into them and see nothing more than his or her reflection. And yet, at the same time, those very eyes could look at one and seem to know everything about him or her at a glance. It was indeed a strange combination. Arthur coughed and nodded his thanks stiffly, if only to keep from staring any longer.

After a few gulps of the alcohol to clear (or more likely blur) his mind, words tumbled out of his mouth unbidden. “You’re a new face.” A rather interesting face, he might have added, but he, fortunately, wasn’t that drunk yet. “How long have you been here?”

He stared down at his drink, expecting silence, but he was (almost) pleasantly surprised to receive a response, short and clipped as it ever was. “Including my time in today, around twenty minutes.”

The other man’s back was already to him again, and inexplicable frustration (he’d blame that on the liquor too) bubbled within his stomach. “That so? Your mixes taste like you’ve been at it for twenty years.”

Wait. Surely he meant those words, but he hadn’t intended to say them out loud! Damn you, liquid courage.

He ignored the fact that even that last train of thought was debunked, since he hadn’t even drunk that much, and plowed on. “Though I certainly didn’t say that for your sake, it was just to clarify things for mine, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was just talking to myself, sometimes my mind just needs to be cleared after a good drink, you know?”

And he did it again. Fuck. Resisting the urge to slam his face in the counter, he instead slapped a hand to his mouth. This has never happened before, not even when he actually was wasted. What the hell?

The silence that ensued was almost unbearable. It was like he was under observation, and could feel those brown eyes appraising him at his slip-up.

“You are rather blunt,” was the reply that finally came. No “thank you,” but Arthur wasn’t really looking for one. He was preoccupied with what the bartender actually said.  
As concise and toneless as the other man’s answer was, he swore his name wasn’t Arthur Kirkland if he didn’t hear a slight chuckle at the end of it.

\--

He was back the next night, but for once he actually felt something while pushing past the doors.

Well, just a tiny thing, really. Not like the bartender could suddenly cure the turmoil he’d been mulling for the last month or so. It was a sudden jolt of some seemingly random emotion, so he swept it aside and took his usual seat. His drink, he noted, was already there waiting for him. How had he known?

But to his surprise, the same bartender from the day before had placed an identical drink down right next to it. “From your admirers.” There was no further explanation.

Arthur laughed without humor. “Please. Don’t kid me or yourself.”

When he got no answer, he continued. Jittery self-consciousness propelled him to, especially since he could just feel the other man raise an eyebrow, despite him remaining ever so still. Arthur hadn’t even touched either glass yet, but words tumbled out anyway. “Well, that aside…”

He decided to move away from the awkward topic (only half-acknowledging that he made it that way) and learn more about this enigma. Why not kill two birds with one stone? “What’s your name, Mr. ---?”

“---Honda, though that is my surname. But that is enough about me as well. for another customer calls. I will have to tell you my given name on another occasion. Please enjoy your drink, sir.”

“Kirkland.” He wasn’t even sure what made him blurt that out, but he justified it with the thought that he may as well go for equivalent exchange.

Honda blinked, then bowed and moved on to serve the other patron.

Arthur watched him go before turning back to his drink and downing it in a single gulp. The other glass remained full, because instincts and past experiences warned him against touching anything from scum.

Honda returned soon enough to that side, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly as the still-full glass as he began polishing the cups.

Miraculously catching the micro-expression, Arthur gave out the order for the glass to be taken away because he sure as hell wouldn’t be drinking that before pulling out his wallet to pay for the drink he’d actually consumed.

When he looked up, he paused as he noticed Honda’s not-so-subtle stare. A bit of heat swept over his cheeks before he inquired, “What is it?”

Honda merely continued to stare, head tilting to the side, glass and rag still clutched in his hands. The gaze was much too penetrating for Arthur, and he shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. He was back under that microscope that was the bartender’s deep brown eyes.

Finally, an eternity later, Honda spoke. “You are quite different from what I first thought, Kirkland-san.”

Allowing the statement to settle in his mind, Arthur didn’t know what to say at first. Then:

“What d’you mean?”

Carefully placing the glass and rag in their rightful places, Honda turned back to him. “Well, at first I assumed you were a whiny man who would complain that no one would truly love him and yet immediately consume a drink that was obviously drugged and engage in acts that would make him feel like he was loved for about an hour before moving on and continuing to whine.

“But when you refused those drinks bought for you, I began to have doubts. And now I have reached a more valid conclusion.”

It was the most Arthur had heard him speak so far. What a distance to travel in a day…!

He, in turn, burst out laughing right then and there, making Honda’s eyes wide slightly. Even the smallest change could turn him into a completely new person, a fact Arthur noted but not particularly disliked.

Eventually, Arthur’s laughter subsided and he just shook his blond head. “Now, now, that was off enough to border on offensive. Do I really give off that impression?”

Honda’s surprised face soon molded back down to stoic before he responded, eyes sparking a bit for the first time. “You did at first.”

An honest response. Arthur had to give him credit for that.

The dark-haired man returned to his work. Arthur barely had time to think before another drink in front of him. It was his regular.

“Free of charge,” Honda answered an unspoken question.

"Huh? Was it them again?” Arthur cast a glance towards the men. This time, however, they weren’t looking in his direction, seemingly engrossed in whatever conversation they were having. How did they even know--?

“No. It is from me this time,” Honda replied.

“Maybe I misjudged you, too. You’re not planning my impending doom by handing me a free drink like they were, are you?” Arthur joked.

Honda stared at him piercingly and knowingly. A frightening combination, indeed. “No, Kirkland-san. But it seems to me that you are.”

Tense silence.

Arthur finally let out a sigh. This one’s perspicacity was amazing. “What, d’you read minds or something? Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now in response to what you insinuated?” His voice held no humor this time.

Honda slowly shook his head. “Not at all, sir, I merely read the atmosphere. To be able to tell exactly what one is thinking at a given time is a skill I have not yet acquired. Nor do I ever hope to.”

With that said, he went to tend to another customer, leaving Arthur to his thoughts. He didn’t plan on drinking more just yet, so he contented himself with picking up the glass and aimlessly swirling the liquid inside.

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it. In his mental state, it was practically inevitable. He just didn’t have the motivation or guts for it.

Was that kind of end worth it all? He envies the people who have straight, clear-cut resolves while at the best he can muster only a blurry, half-assed motivation.

If he was supposed to feel pain, he didn’t; that ability had long left him. In its place was just hollowness.

Sometimes he liked to think he was a roaming spirit who just couldn’t seem to leave. He would grace this earth with his presence for the time being.

It seemed to explain a lot. But he knew he was just a bloody coward.

“…strange. Most people are excited to receive a free drink that isn’t drugged,” Honda remarked as he returned.

Arthur stopped his movements and smiled without mirth. “Well, you can never be too careful, hm? All I have is your word against anyone else’s.”

But despite his words, he sipped at the drink. He found it all strange himself; saying that made him realize he’d probably trust Honda’s word over anyone else’s at this point, even without knowing the man’s full name.

Honda’s lips seemed to form a smile for the shortest second, leaving Arthur frozen for a whole minute. To distract himself from what that might have implied, he took out his wallet and grimaced. Almost out.

He was about to take out a few bills before Honda spoke. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Bullshit,” Arthur retorted (forgetting his usual censor around near-strangers), “why not?” Strange, he hadn’t felt a burst of pride in a long while …

“You have already paid me. More with words than anything. Do you not remember?”

At first, Arthur didn’t, but heat washed upon his face when he did. Curse his stupid, cheesy mouth. If compliments were to bite him back in the ass like this then he may as well stop and revert to his much pricklier, usual self. What changed him so suddenly now?

He didn’t want to consider that.

He muttered, “Have it your way, then, it’s not like I actually meant anything by it....”

Honda gave him one of those unreadable stares again, making him squirm in his seat. “You are harder to read than most others,” the bartender said matter-of-factly.  
“Wot? Harder?” He leaned in closer without even realizing it, resting a cheek on his knuckles.

“Much harder,” Honda confirmed, beginning to polish another glass.

Arthur contemplated this, sipping more at the alcohol. After a pause, he joked again, “So then, I suppose this makes me someone special?”

So wrapped up was he in bitter chuckles that Arthur failed to notice the way Honda looked at him then. “Yes,” the bartender murmured mostly to himself, pausing for a moment in his work. “I suppose it does.”

\--

Arthur cursed the weather for the umpteenth time as his steps made sloshing sounds each time he set a foot down. It had already been a few weeks; he should stop pretending he’s surprised by it. He shivered, attempting to draw his coat closer around him before remembering he didn’t have a coat anymore. He cursed again and entered the bar. Shaking his head, he released an almighty sneeze as he entered the bar, startling those nearby. They whispered and murmured to their friends in response. He ignored them and sat down in his usual place.

He had to fight a smile; his usual was there. Whether he won against that smile or not, he refused to admit.

“They say you sneeze when someone is talking about you.”

Arthur jumped a bit at Honda’s voice, but then he regained his composure. “I won’t doubt that, I’m sure a lot of people are right now.”

Honda tilted his head. The action seemed out of place while he was still polishing a glass. “Are you all right? It seems to be raining quite heavily outside.”

Somehow, Arthur got the feeling he wasn’t asking that just because of the rain.

There was suddenly a hand on his forehead, and Arthur jerked away from the contact, barely catching sight of the surprised expression on Honda’s face.

“I’m fine. You have work to do, don’t you?” It came out ruder than he’d intended to say it, and he wished he could swallow back those words.

Honda only glanced at him. “You are not wrong,” were his only words before he went to the other patrons.

Arthur watched the bartender, the man’s rigid posture contrasting the graceful fashion in which he bowed to customers and moved his hands to mix drinks as if he were arranging flowers.

The blond man shook his head in disbelief, chuckling bitterly. What a way to phrase it! He really wished he could think the same way. How much does this bloke know? Not a mind-reader, my eyebrows. He sneezed a few more times before resting his head on the bar’s counter. He could feel a headache coming on, almost like a bad omen.  
He hadn’t even let one drop of alcohol touch his lips yet.

_I am wrong, you know. About many things._

Subconsciously, he’d reached for the spot where he usually wore his brooch. It was his most prized possession, a silver accessory in the shape of a lion that was even more to him than an accessory would ever be. With bitter, sweeping remembrance, he smiled. He’d forgotten that he didn’t have it anymore. He didn’t have anything anymore.

As if to remind him of that fact, the whispers in the background seemed to grow louder commensurate to his headache.

“—knew I recognized those eyebrows!”

“—can’t believe he has the nerve to go out in public—“

“—hear what he did?”

“—the best society—“

“—got kicked out—“

“Debauchery!”

“—life went down the toilet—“

“—serves him right!”

Suddenly a rough hand weaved into his hair and yanked his head up. The pain of feeling as though his hair would be ripped straight out of his skull only made his headache even worse, and his eyes watered.

Despite his quickly blurring vision, he recognized the face of the man who’d bought him a drink the other day and then winked at him. Suddenly, it all came together. But hell if he was going to him the guy the satisfaction of knowing.

“What does a bloke got to do for a pick-me-up around here?” Arthur asked through clenched teeth.

The man immediately dropped his head on the counter. Arthur hissed in response, and laughter was heard everywhere.

“Try picking yourself up from that.”

Arthur said nothing this time.

The man leaned in close enough to kiss Arthur’s ear if he so wished. It seemed he didn’t, as he contented himself with whispering malicious nothings in his ear, which disgusted Arthur just as much as if the pompous git really did press his lips there.

“Arthur Kirkland, formerly the head of the Gentlemen’s Alliance, now a washed-up drunk who hit rock bottom. Whatever could have caused this?”

The annoyingly rhetorical question almost made Arthur rise and punch him. Almost. He’d like to know himself what made him like this. While he lifted his head, he felt no desire to defend himself. Instead, he sat quietly facing the man and let the insults permeate.

“You were always so smug, being at the top. With money and power and status! Well? Look at you now! You got exactly what you deserve!”

He thought he’d numbed down the pain of loss—of his dream to succeed, of everything. He thought he was strong enough to get over it, to think about it as less as he possibly could.

But against a few choice words and a mob of fickle love and everlasting hatred, he was so very weak; weak enough that he allowed the wall of numbness to topple from the force of a dam of pain and for tears to slip out.

Of no longer any importance—  
The man, gleefully taking pleasure in Arthur’s obvious anguish rendering him despondent, moved away and spoke so the whole pub could hear him. “See this bloke? You were all kissing the ground he walked on before…”

 _—not to the young boys that would eagerly flash their notebooks at for an autograph before and now go to their other heroes—_  
“—but as you were so very shocked to find out, he ended up having a few, hm, possessions in his grasp…”

 _—not to the women who swooned over him as he walked by and now scoff if he so much as blinks in their direction—_  
“…that showed us his true nature, dirty as a sewer rat…!”

 _—not to the people who wished him prosperity and now curse him to the deepest pits of hell—_  
“…oh, are you surprised? You shouldn’t be!”

 _—not even to the man who’d given him a free drink at the price of a thoughtless compliment—_  
“…what if I told you, that among the dastardly deeds he’d done—!”

 _—the same man with chocolate-brown eyes who could somehow read him all wrong and then, quick as a whip, read him all right—_  
“—this was the biggest one!”  
_—the only person he knew who never thought he was in the wrong._

He could see the man raise his fist and closed his eyes for the inevitable blow. Maybe he deserved it after all, even if the man’s accusations were complete bogus, maybe he really should take matters into hands and do the deed himself, maybe—

“Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem?”

—but it never came.

Slowly opening his eyes, Arthur was surprised to see Honda there holding back the man’s fist with seeming ease. He really wanted to explain, to show at least to Honda that he wasn’t like this, because it had been so long since someone actually believed in him again, but the words died before they reached his mouth. He only looked away in shame, suddenly grateful that Honda’s attention was fixed only on the fist he was holding back.

The man who dealt both emotional and physical harm to Arthur blinked in surprise. Looking down at his fist, he seemed confused on why it was still and in Honda’s hand instead of punching through Arthur’s face.

Honda repeated his question. “Is there a problem?”

The man, who was considerably taller than Honda, twisted around to get a good look at him. “What does it look like? Of course there’s a fucking problem! Letting this rat pollute the fresh air…after his disgrace he shouldn’t even show his face on earth anymore!”

“In this bar, that is for us to decide,” Honda said. “Please take your fights elsewhere, or we might deem you unworthy to be served here instead.”

Clenching his teeth, the larger man raised his other fist. “Me, unworthy? Who exactly are you to be saying that to me? You must be shitting me.”

Arthur was certain he was too busy zoning out to move, so he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d jumped up just as the guy was about to take a swing at Honda. The blow to his temple sent him reeling, but he felt a little more worthy of keeping his eyes open afterwards. That didn’t last for long, though.

The last things he heard were “Kirkland-san!” from a familiar voice and “Kiku! Call the cops! I’ll--” from a not-so-familiar one before his world faded away.

\--

“I suck in a breath with all my might, in the twilight…”

He could hear the faint sound of metal on flesh and shivered. It was suddenly very cold inside the bar.

“And I close my eyes….”

Wait, he wasn’t inside the bar? No, that was definitely the previously-sick singer’s voice, but it was gradually getting fainter.

“Oh, I love you…”

He was moving? But he wasn’t walking. In his addled mind, Arthur felt more like he was floating save for the throbbing pain in his head.  
“How are you?” Honda’s voice was nearer than it had ever been.

Arthur jumped. Or at least, he tried to. Honda held a firm grip onto his legs and the sudden movement led Arthur to cling to the other man’s neck for dear life.

Just like he was already doing…oh.

Good God, he thought he’d outgrown being carried piggyback style decades ago. He really wanted to cover his face but the only way to do that would be to bury his face into the nape of Honda’s neck. Well. Quite the conundrum.

In lieu of an answer, Arthur only mumbled, “Care to explain what happened back there?”

A pause. Being so close, Arthur could have sworn he heard the gears running through Honda’s mind as he mentally weighed the outcomes of whatever he was going to say.  
“After you were hit, my co-worker took responsibility for the incident. He has…a way with words, one might say.”

Incredulously, Arthur asked, “Just one bloke? D’you even know how many goons that git might have behind him?”

Honda let out a breath that could only be construed as a chuckle, and it made Arthur’s stone heart move. Just a little. “Heiwajima-san is more than enough. Believe me, those men won’t try to do the same thing if he has anything to say about it.”

“I…see. Well, then…” If Honda were to speak so highly of the man even in his ever-even tone, he can’t be all that bad. This Heiwajima fellow sounded honorable. A fat lot better than him, at least, who went down with one blow and still wanted to hide from everything.

There was an awkward silence, broken only by Honda’s slow, sloshing steps amidst the puddles that had yet to dry from the previous rainfall.

Arthur broke it again. “And...how did I end up like this again?”

The slight break in Honda’s smooth movements told Arthur that he understood the question wasn’t just about their previous position. Those few words were a series of crossroads to be carefully treaded upon. He trusted Honda to know that.

Honda chose the safe answer, just as Arthur wanted. But at the same time, not in the way he expected. “You said you wanted a pick-me-up, did you not?”

Arthur had forgotten he had his arms wound around Honda’s neck, which also meant his face touched Honda’s. The Not like this died in his mouth. It wasn’t until Honda’s statement made his face heat up that he realized oh shit he can literally feel my embarrassment fuckfuckfuckfuck--

Fortunately(?), he didn’t have time to dwell on that, as Honda continued.

“Consider it the pick-me-up in return for taking a hit meant for me.”

Arthur released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “I-it’s not like I did it for you, really…”

This time, Honda let out an actual laugh. The stone tilted further. “Then what did you do it for? Yourself?” The question was almost playful, if that’s what the slight lilt in Honda’s voice could be taken as, but something about the situation made Arthur give a serious answer.

“You know what, yeah,” he said honestly. “I’ve had lots of things done for my sake, but letting someone else get hurt is definitely not on that list.” Especially not you, who didn’t even think I was in the wrong.

Honda stopped walking. “You shouldn’t let yourself be hurt either.”

Arthur let out a scoff to mask his sigh. He was half successful. Can he really believe this, after such a long time of beating himself over the matter? The outstretched hands Honda lending to him seem almost too good to be true. He’s never been one to kid himself. “How much of this do you know, really?”

“I think more than I let on, you know. That’s why using words for my thoughts comes out strange. My hobby is determining whether or not to speak after receiving information and interpreting the atmosphere, as I have done around you and others who claimed to know you. But to answer your question, enough.” He had continued walking. “Enough to know you weren’t actually responsible for the crimes they were accusing you of.”

“And what evidence do you have for that?” Honestly, he’s not even sure why he’s protesting at this point. It might just be the cynicism that was his only company in these months since that horrible day. Argument for argument’s sake.

Maybe if he keeps it up long enough, Honda will finally drop him, literally and otherwise. The thought makes him cold all over.

“Only my judgment.”

“That’s been wrong before, you know.”

“Flowers are fragrant, but they fall and scatter. Afterwards, however, they do find the strength to rise and bloom again.”

A poet at heart, but Arthur couldn’t find a response for that for a while. “We all make mistakes, huh…?” was all that he could muster, more to himself than anything.  
“Even lions do.”

That got Arthur’s attention. Honda seemed to notice this, and continued. “The man at the bar threw an ornament in the shape of a lion at you before Heiwajima-san took over, saying there was no point in keeping what had previously belonged to trash. If you notice, it’s already pinned onto you.”

Arthur hurriedly felt on his chest with one hand, and lo and behold, it really was. Sudden tears welled up and he did his damndest to keep them from falling. “Goddammit…” He started laughing, only with half the humor. The other half was self-deprecation. “Lions are idiots, aren’t they?”

Honda considered this. “Not so. They’re certainly shrewd and noble enough to take responsibility, even too much at times. But alas, pride does seem to tangle them further in the net.”

Not for the first time, Arthur was starting to feel like an incompetent git next to this eloquent speaker. “Does that make you the mouse that freed me, then?”  
Honda laughed. “I am no mouse.”

(Arthur definitely didn’t doubt it.)

But there was an unspoken agreement lingering in his words, and Arthur couldn’t help but gain confidence from it.

“All right, I won’t call you a mouse, then. I’ll call you by your first name instead, Kiku.”

This time, the man’s movements jerked to a halt. Arthur was about to panic, thinking he maybe mistook what he heard for someone else but then he could feel the heat from the other’s face against his.

“Th-that is…well…I see.” He had never seen Honda like this, red-faced and stuttering, cool demeanor suddenly gone.

“You ok?” Did he say the wrong name after all?

“Yes! I’m just…I’ve never really had someone call me by my first name so suddenly. It indicates the utmost intimacy if you do.”

Now Arthur was blushing. God, he saw the chance to be cocky and he fucking took it, but look where it got him. He couldn’t even tell whose face was hotter at this point; all there was around him was warmth.

“I-if it’s bad, then, I--”

“No! It’s okay. I’m…very glad.”

Arthur let out another breath. Relief. He could understand, all that thinking Kiku seemed to do would certainly make him tacit and tongue-tied when it really got down to it. He had the same problem himself.

Kiku began walking again, and Arthur settled his face on his shoulder again. There’s a chance he might have nuzzled in against Kiku, ever-so-slightly. Not that he would admit it.  
There was one thing he would be glad to acknowledge, however: that they still had a lot to learn, about life and about each other. Arthur smiled. ““So then, I suppose this makes me someone special?”

Even in these desolate streets, even if they were packed as well, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t feel lonely anymore. If he did, he’d just have to get a pick-me-up. And now he knew just the person to go to when it happened.

Kiku’s face seemed to get hotter, if possible, but his voice was as steady and smooth as ever. “Yes,” he murmured, this time loud enough for both of them to hear. “I suppose it does.”


End file.
